What He Didn't Say
by SylverSpyder
Summary: A bunch of 'Shawn has a secret and somebody finds out' one-shots
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Psych. Not yet. Mwahahahahahahahahaha! I wish.

p.s. this story is just going to be a bunch of one-shots where Shawn has a secret and somebody figures it out.

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><p>It was totally accidental.<p>

He had simply been curious. Carlton Lassiter was, after all, a curious man. Now the tall gangly detective was reminded of the phrase 'curiosity killed the cat' and couldn't help wondering if it was true.

The hot California sun beating unremittingly down onto his head glared in his eyes, making the gold badge in his hand glint. Sweat gathered around the tight neck of his immaculate white shirt as heat spread unnoticed across his shoulders, bunched tight under his suit jacket. He did not notice the power of the sun in the cloudless cerulean sky. He was too distracted by the warming metal of the badge against his palm, wrapped in his long, pale fingers. His adept mind was used to looking at the facts, to assess threats and catch murderers, yet the meaning of the metal shield he gripped continued to allude him.

It was too much to accept, having fallen into a comfortable life out of years of daily routine, he knew the man. Spencer was... Spencer. He was loud, sarcastic, never-take life-seriously Spencer. He was the annoying psychic who flew into situations without back-up and broke every rule in the book. He was a friend, of sorts, the kind of friend who sometimes was impossible not to like and sometimes made Carlton want to shoot him in the head. He was Juliet's boyfriend, for God's sake.

Did she know? Did the Chief?

The hot pavement burned into Carlton Lassiter's knees as he knelt in front of the gleaming motorcycle, one hand braced against the Norton's smooth leather seat. He had just been curious. He had seen Spencer reach into the concealed pocket beneath the bike's seat and he had wondered what was there. He was expecting something ridiculous, perhaps a pineapple patterned bandanna, that stupid frog he always had or something equally pointless. But this...

The cool badge under his fingers made Carlton's throat catch as he stared uncomprehending at the name on the badge, the unchanging letters spelling 'Shawn Henry Spencer' immortalized in the unrelenting alloy of copper, bronze, and brass. His blue eyes stared openly under his dark, knitted brows.

He read the man's file! Moreover, they were friends, or at least Carlton liked to think so, sometimes when it was late at night and he sat, cleaning his various guns in the loneliness of his own house. He had called upon Spencer as a friend more than once when he felt trapped in the unbearable solitude after Victoria left.

How could he not have known? After so long, how could he not have figured it out somehow?

Were there any clues, he found himself wondering, examining the past with a magnifying glass, searching for any hint that the psychic had been more than he appeared to be. There had been plenty. The man could shoot a gun with pinpoint accuracy, he even hacked into Carlton's twitter and broke into Carlton's house more than once...

Carlton looked back at the signs, the various escapades he had ignored, Shawn's overly blaise air about everything, even kidnapping, the detective's exam results... It seemed impossible or, at the very least, improbable.

Yet the signs remained and the evidence that lay heavy in his palm was unrefutable.

Did Shawn hide it on purpose? Was Spencer even a psychic?

The badge held no answers, only more questions.


	2. Chapter 2

Snapping off his blood covered gloves, Woody flashed Shawn a smile as he entered the morgue.

"So how's Detective Lassiter? My wife was wondering if he'd be interested in coming over for dinner sometime?" She had taken the whole spooning thing well, and they hadn't tried anything new in a while. Maybe Lassiter was just what they needed to liven up their relationship. "We'd have powdered donuts. He does like those, doesn't he?"

Shawn's trademark grin was wide as a queasy looking Gus shuffled into the morgue, took one look at the mutilated remains of the corpse on the table and fled.

Confused, Woody watched him leave.

Shawn sent him a reassuring glance. "Gus just has the flu."

Woody glanced around, making sure no one was listening. He sent a look at the dismembered remains. No bugs had shown up on the x-ray. "The swine-flu was actually a government experiment, you know." Whispering conspiratorially, Woody confided in Shawn. "The condition of the medical economy was deteriorating, so the scientists in Area 51 paired with the extraterrestrials engineered a new disease meant to target humans."

The lighting in autopsy casting dark shadows around his eyes that gave him a weirdly serious expression, Shawn nodded in agreement. "So, about the Grammock case..."

"Oh yes,"picking up a scalpel, Woody waved it thoughtfully. "He was dismembered at every major joint." Woody pointed to a dark bruise present on a portion of the chest. "And the pectoralis major is bruised in a way that could have been caused by repeated beating with a large, blunt stone arrowhead about the size of the front half of a boot." Woody speculated to himself, absentmindedly tapping his chin with the bloody scalpel.

"Could it have been a hard kick with a boot?" Shawn offered.

The idea surprised him. "Now that I think about it, that would make more sense. What a horrible suicide. The man must have been very flexible to kick himself in the ribs, and very quick with the dismemberment. I think jumping in front of a train would be better. Cleaner." Woody found his thoughts drawn to that. A freight train would perhaps be interesting. He wondered whether the impact would be felt to the suicide victim. If decapitation victims were aware for eight seconds after the act had been committed, this death would make more sense. How would they know it was just eight seconds though? Maybe the man could still see him. He should open the man s eyes maybe. It must be so boring to watch the back of your eyelids when you could get a firsthand look at an autopsy.

"Or," Shawn contributed, Woody jumped at the reminder of Shawn's presence, accidentally cutting his lip with the scalpel. He licked the blood away and set the instrument down. "It could have been murder."

Woody tilted his head to the side, thinking. The ominous lighting cast his skeletal face like a specter. "Possibly..."

He scribbled that side note onto his report. "Can you take this up to Lassiter for me?"

Shawn nodded and absentmindedly ambling off.

Woody turned back to the body before he remembered the dinner invitation. Maybe he should ask Carlton himself, in case Shawn forgot. He headed out of autopsy and through the hallway that led to the stairs that would take him up to the bullpen. On the way, he was distracted by a scratching sound. Afraid it was another chicken, he ducked behind a pillar, glancing tentatively around for the sound's source

On the other side of the pillar, Shawn was standing with a pen in hand, scratching out Woody s report of the bruising on the pectoralis major. Woody cut off his exclamation in favor of secrecy. Maybe Shawn was a government plant! Or a serial killer...

He watched in surprise as Shawn replaced the noting of the pectoralis major with the latissimus dorsi. Woody thought for a moment. How had Shawn even known the name of the latissimus dorsi? He had to know.

Woody strode off toward the morgue and took a tertiary look at the bruising, only to find that Shawn was right. How could he have known? How did he notice what Woody missed? Was it so blatantly obvious? And why didn t he say something about the kick being placed lower, on the middle abdomen?

Woody slid over to the computer, not even bothering to sit down, he logged into police records and entered Shawn s name, requesting schooling records. The results made him swallow hard.

How could he not have known? Why didn't he suspect? He was the type of person to question everything and yet he never noticed the hidden depth to his friend.

He had never guessed the depth to Shawn's intelligence, never even bothered to look deeper than the lighthearted smile and the open face willing to listen to even Woody s farfetched theories.

He stared at the screen in disbelief, the blue light casting an eerie glow across his pallid features.

It couldn't be. Someone would have noticed it in Shawn s file. Someone would have said something

"Just so you know, you're the first person I've told." The voice in Woody's ear made him jump.

"Really, Woody? Hiding behind a pillar?" He stuck one hand up to his forehead with a smirk. "Psychic, dude. Kinda ruins the element of surprise."

Shawn was perched on the edge of the autopsy table behind Woody. The man picked up a dismembered finger and tossed it back and forth absentmindedly.

"I did quite a few unbelievable things on my 'road trip'." Shawn smirked, lost in the memories. "I feel I have a right to keep some of them secret. Besides, I can t have people thinking I m smart or something-" He stared morosely at the digit in his hand. "Phalanges," He sighed. "I have a phalange in every pie, you could say."

Woody stared. "Finger in every pie, you mean?"

"I've heard it both ways. That's how we said it in med school."

"Oh. We always said a scalpel in every cadaver."


	3. Chapter 3

**This message transmitted on 100% recycled electrons. The characters are not mine, they are Psych characters, and have simply been recycled. The idea, however, is not recycled. It is all mine. **

**p.s. sorry for the wait and the short chapter...**

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><p>The room was warm, the heat held by the soft cocoon of blankets Juliet was wrapped in. Her eyes fluttered open and she lay still, appreciating the stripes of dazzling morning sunlight dancing over the sleeping figure of Shawn Spencer. Lips turning up in a soft smile, she admired him.<p>

In his sleep, the panes of his face were calm and serious, his body sprawled haphazardly against the sheets. He had grown so much over the past few months, matured beyond anything she had ever expected.

He loved her.

The idea of being loved by another person the way he loved her was still foreign, ethereal.

She snaked a hand out towards his slumbering form, treasuring the momentary stillness. Her fingers trailed lightly over his bicep.

As soon as she touched him, the muscle tensed as Shawn sprung up and around. His body flipped over so he was straddling her, pinning her down in a military style arm lock. One hand emerged from underneath the pillow holding a nine millimeter semi-automatic.

"Who do you work f-" His eyes caught sight of her, clearing from their sleepy daze.

Juliet screamed as the barrel crashed into her forehead. Just as soon as it appeared, however, it vanished, leaving a shocked and contrite Shawn its wake.

He clambered off of her, lunging away with a scared look in his eyes.

"Oh god, Juliet. I'm so sorry. It was habit. I didn't mean to..." He cut himself off suddenly, dropping the gun and charging out of the apartment, leaving Juliet frozen on the bed, the morning's peace permanently shattered.

Juliet was terrified. She wasn't sure what the hell had just happened- and where the hell did Shawn get reflexes like that?

As soon as her fear began to fade, her mind became exceedingly clear.

About three things she was absolutely positive:

First, Shawn was trained.

Second, there was part of him and she didn't know how potent that part might be that was capable of shedding blood.

And third, she was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him. After all, whipping out a gun like that...

That, was hot.

Now, she just had to drag that gun-toting maniac back to bed. Maybe he'd show her some moves...


	4. Chapter 4

This one will be a two-shot.

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><p>The assassin raised his rifle with a sickening smile as the cool october wind swept past him like the breath of god.<br>'If God's breath smelled like cool, minty freshness.' The assassin muttered to himself with a languid smile, perfectly relaxed and at ease, predatory eyes reflecting the moonlight. Wind velocity, he thought. Glancing at a nearby flag, he calculated its surface area, factoring in probable mass, rate of movement and factored in direction. Twenty-three miles per hour at this height. Angle, 62 degrees. Low humidity. weight of projectile, .01kg. Target size, 2.03 cm. Target Height, 6'2''. Sliding his hand into the hem of his leather jacket, he pulled out a dart so thin, it was almost invisible. A deadly nothing resting lightly in his fingers. He slid it into the specially engineered sniper's rifle without looking down, his movements fluid and easy. This was what he had trained for. He never made mistakes.  
>The dart was glass and half an inch long, containing a miniscule almost undetectable amount of hormones, the serotonin used by deadly Death Stalker scorpions to attract mates. And in L.A... The un-diluted strength of the mixture's scent would attract the poisonous creature from a mile away. And that was all he needed.<br>6,031.52 feet away, a man stood in the hazy air outside a bar, his shoulders hunched against the cold unable to hide his enormous stature. His eyes were cold, dark, and feral. As the smoky air, wispy agianst the inky midnight-black of the sky permeated his lungs, scarred from years of the abuse to which he was addicted, the man opened his mouth and let out a chest-rattling cough. He never noticed the tiny projctile enter his mouth and shatter against his teeth into undetectable pieces. His human faculties couldn't make out the sudden odor around him, spread by the brisk wind from which he huddled. THe wind carried the scent thus, without his knowledge. Several blocks over in an alleyway outside a seedy hotel whose gringy walls were barely capable of supporting themselves, a tiny creature awoke, scuttling around curiously. Something was off... Then it caught it, the scent of a mate. It headed towards the smell. Silent, and deadly, on the hunt.  
>Shawn Spencer smiled.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

It was accidental. Really.

His father was the last person eighteen year old Shawn Spencer expected to pull him over.

After all, he'd been on his own for months before traveling back to Santa Barbara. He had been all over the world under all different guises. He lost his contract with the NSA after Kazakhstan (really, he was eighteen years old, and she had been really, really hot. It wasn't his fault he didn't want to kill her, smuggling state secrets or not). Ever since he'd been freelancing. Kazakhstan had been his only mistake... until now.

Of course his dad would catch him disposing a high powered rifle connected to a high profile assassination case. Normally, he didn't even use such mundane weapons, but his contact at the Pentagon had told him it needed to be obvious. A clear case. So much for that.

"Dad," Shawn whined as the officer frowned at the rifle in his hands. "Come on, I wasn't even speeding and it's modified for paintball. I was bringing it down to show Gus."

Henry sent his son a knowing look, surprised at how much his lying had improved. Although, examining the weapon further, it did appear to have been modified for paintball use. Well, whatever Shawn was involved with, he didn't want to know.

Last time he arrested Shawn, the kid didn't talk to him for over a year.

With a sigh, Henry relinquished the gun, having first memorized the serial number. Shawn may not tell him what this was about, but he might as well do some research, paintball gun or not.

Typing the number into the database, not expecting any results, Henry was shocked when a case popped up. Reading through the file, he felt his eyes widen.


	6. Chapter 6

DISCLAIMER: Like I own them. pshaw. (frustratedly crumples unsigned contract for transfer of Psych's ownership in one hand while throwing darts at the actual owner's image with the other.) I don't, actually. It's a bit depressing. (Fat pink pig waltzes by singing "chin up." We all die of horror)

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><p>"Shawn," Gus screamed (and admittedly, he did scream, and it was not a manly scream either). He pointed wordlessly to the timer counting down from forty five.<p>

Still busy helping Juliet escape the chains that had imprisoned her next to the control board, Shawn wasn't really paying attention.

"Shawn!" Gus screamed frantically again, his shaking hands suspended above the control board, too afraid to press any buttons, and yet, too afraid not to. Who knew that the death of one math-genius high school dropout would lead to this, trapped in the basement- ahem, underground lair - of a conflagration of social outcasts who had bound together, decided enough was enough, and reprogrammed the launch directives for a nuclear missile from the USS Raven for the coordinates of one Santa Barbara, California.

"It will be fine Gus! I know we're missing the season finale of the mentalist and USA Network's broadcast premiere of Pretty in Pink, Gus, but I put them on DVR!" Shawn sounded infuriatingly blasé. They were about to be vaporized, and Shawn was worrying about Pretty in Pink!

"What am I supposed to do Shawn? We're all going to die!" Gus was enraged. "I'm not a rocket scientist! I have no clue what I'm doing!"

Having untied the unconscious Juliet and set her to the side, Shawn rolled his eyes, smirking, and shoved Gus out of the way, seemingly randomly jabbing buttons.

"Oh, Great!" Gus exclaimed. "At least I'll be dead so I won't have to explain to your father that you started the $$#$5 apocalypse!"

"Language, Gus, language," Shawn chided as he continued to type. "So what do you think, Iowa?"

"Excuse me?" Gus sputtered, having just been disturbed from a long mental rant he had been building.

"Iowa, Gus," Shawn repeated with exaggerated slowness.

"I'm not an idiot, Shawn, and stop repeating my name ever four $%^#$% seconds! You're freaking me out!"

"I said, there's nothing interesting in Iowa, is there? Just potatoes."

As usual, Gus felt the need to correct him. "Actually, Iowa is home to both the world's largest bull and the world's largest strawberry."

Shawn's lips turned down in a frown as he turned back to the keyboard, the countdown on the wall now down to fifteen.

"That's a shame, Gussy-poo. I guess I'll have to redirect the missile elsewhere. I know! Up. It's already in the upper stratosphere, (thank God it's not a ballistic missile) all I have to do is send it up. This baby is travelling at a rate similar to an SA-7. We should have her up, up, and away in no time. Calculating trajectory… and done." The countdown stopped.

Gus winced and ducked, as if that could prepare him for instantaneous death, but nothing happened.

"Shawn?"

"Yeah."

"Where the hell did you learn all that from?"

"Would you believe me if I said science class?"

"No. I know for a fact that you slept through pretty much every class since second grade, and I would have remembered if we were discussing missiles."

"How about Doctor Who?"

"Come on, Shawn. If you're going to lie, at least make it believable, like… Discovery Channel."

"Like I'd be caught dead watching Discovery Channel."

"You know that's right."

"How about reading?"

"What, they discuss missiles in Twilight, now?"

"You should know. You read it, too."

"Unh-uhn." Gus snapped defensively.

"Now you're bringing race into this?"

"How was that racial?"

"Have you never seen Bring It On: In it to Win It? Only girls from the hood make that noise."

"First off, no. Second off, it was Bring It On, Fight to the Finish, third, you haven't told me where you learned that stuff."

"Maybe I'm just an all-knowing genius."

"You're not omnipotent. You may be smart, but it's not like you're a rocket scientist."

"Actually…"

"Shawn…"

"I kind of am."

It was at that moment that Juliet woke up. Glancing between the unconscious form of Gus (he fainted, not passed out, full on fainted) and Shawn, she raised one hand to her aching head and frowned. "Did I miss something?"


	7. Chapter 7

Back for more? I'm warning you, I still don't own it...

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><p>This will be an unedited chapter because I've had a long day and I'm ready to sleep. I just felt I owed you guys something for all of the devotion you've shown to this story.<p>

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><p>They were in Mexico. Again.<p>

Gus knew it even before he opened his eyes. It was the sense of dread in the pit of his stomach, the knowledge that he'd been knocked unconscious, and the sour residue of alcohol in his mouth that gave it away.

Opening his eyes, Gus found only darkness, which, considering the hangover he could already feel tearing his ordered brain into chaos, was probably a good thing.

... Or at least it would have been.

You see, for Gus, waking up to complete darkness meant two things:

1. Shawn had kidnapped him.

2. He (and normally Shawn) had been kidnapped and was/were currently blindfolded. Most likely tied to a chair or a table or other seemingly harmless household furniture. (Except for the komodo dragon incident. Waking up to that... That was not fun. Not really. Not until you can look back and say "I rode a komodo dragon blindfolded and still have all my limbs." Then you really deserve a good laugh. You've earned it.)

Strangely enough, until recently, that normally meant they had ended up in Mexico. Even now, chances were that Shawn would be the one kidnapped and Gus would sit in the Psych office worrying until Shawn somehow got out of it with those unbelievable talents of his. Gus had been best friends with Shawn for more than twenty years now (man, that thought made him feel old!) and Shawn still managed to surprise him.

One thing that was no longer a surprise was waking up in Mexico. Gus could only hope it wasn't human slave traffickers this time.

Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps beside him. Gus turned his head, only now realizing he had probably been drooling onto the carpet that was smashed up against his face, and listened.

"It's good to see you, Brother. Sorry about the whole firefight, flash-bang thing earlier. If I'd have known it was you, I would have waited until I could, as they say, 'see the whites of your eyes...'"

There was a brief pause.

"...and then I would have shot you repeatedly point blank in the occipital lobe region," the voice was monotone, and kind of freaky. Gus held his breath and stayed as still as possible. Shawn would get them out of this somehow... or get them killed.

"Good thing your Burton's unconscious, or I would have enjoyed chopping him to pieces and hearing him scream... But, that would be cliche, so it wouldn't work. I'm a nonconformist. That means the black guy doesn't _always_ have to die first. "

Gus tried to speak, but his mouth didn't seem to be working properly quite yet. _It's the blondes, _he struggled to protest.

Shawn's voice wasn't even strained, it was as if they were old friends catching up. "Seriously, Hatter? Seriously? Are you off your meds? The blondes are always the first to go. There's even a facebook group... Anyways, you know you need me. Besides, Gus is going to wake up soon, and I know you don't play well with others."

A deep chuckle resounded. "I did hit him pretty hard though, we should be fine. No outsider will disturb us. Even if anyone did, I would take joy in killing them..."

His voice was gleeful as he paused, presumably caught up in a sick fantasy. Gus was not at all reassured by this. In fact, this might even be worse than the komodo dragon.

Shawn just snorted. "Dude, you need to work on your evil villain lines. I thought I'd trained you better than this!"

"How about: nobody but the mail man's come around for weeks, and I accidentally ate him last week."

_How can you accidentally eat someone? _Gus wondered.

"That's better, but what have I told you about cannibalism, Hatter?"

"I know, I know," the strange voice growled. Gus could almost see him shrugging. "Cannibalism is not the way to solve your problems. Talk it out. Blah, blah, blah."

Shawn gave what sounded like a huff of impatience. "Why do you always have to kill people whenever you have a temper tantrum? Why can't you act like a normal villain and rob a bank or something?"

There was a pause then Shawn spoke again. "Hatter," he sounded absolutely exasperated. "you didn't kidnap me just because you were lonely again, did you? Come on, I know you have my cell..."

"Nope..."

"..."

"Alright! I was bored! And I missed your hair!"

"Do some dastardly plotting, next time! I do have a life outside of chasing you down, you know."

"It isn't fair! Ever since you went back to Santa Barbara and started that ridiculous psychic detective agency you spend all your time with Guster putting away petty thieves and other riff-raff when you could be playing games with me! We're brothers. You're the other side of my coin, your mind is the perfect compliment for mine, and our games are always so compelling..."

It was a soft whisper, almost indiscernible. The voice trailed off and Gus felt himself tense up. This guy was absolutely insane. Yin crazy. No, Yang crazy.

"Hatter," Shawn sighed, speaking quietly as if to a child. "I know that half those 'petty thieves' and that 'riff-raff' only came to Santa Barbara under your orders anyway. As you said, I'm your other half, and I know better than to think a city our size would just happen to attract serial killers and master thieves like Australia attracts wallabies. You've been so obvious. I'm actually a bit disappointed. Now let me and Gus go, and I promise on the Pineapple gods never to break the rules of the game again." Gus strained his ears to hear the reply.

"If you insist, Shawnie," It came out in a huff, like an apology from a reluctant child. "But remember, even if you won't admit it, you need me. Without me, you'd be bored," the tone had changed from that of a petulant kid to an eerie sing-song tone that put Gus on edge. Gus unconsciously shifted and the room grew silent, the atmosphere suddenly frigid.

"Toodledoo, Shawnie! Have fun in Mexico. Don't forget to call next time you're bored and need a good serial killing to spice up your day! I'll be watching you!" Footsteps retreated into the distance.

There was a moment of silence then a distant shout. "And feel free to call collect. I have unlimited!"

"Bye, Hatter! You know you won't get away with this!" Shawn yelled back, almost cheerily.

"Bye, Shawn! Have fun escaping after I set the lair on self destruct! I left some pineapple on the counter for you to grab on your way out. I'm off to steal the crown jewels to crown Jules. And don't pretend you don't know that I know that you know I know about the ring!" For half a second, there was silence and Gus relaxed, thinking the man was finally gone...

"You have ten minutes! Oh, and the Senator's assassination, that was me."

Then he really was gone.

"I knew it!" Shawn exclaimed.

Gus, utterly confused at this point, heard Shawn attempt to muffle his laughter.

"Arch enemies... You can't live with 'em, and you can't live without 'em."

Surprised, Gus took this chance to speak, his vocal chords finally fully functional.

"Arch enemies?" His voice seemed to loud to his ears and his voice seemed to be an octave higher than its usual.

"Yeah," Shawn sighed. He didn't seem at all surprised that Gus was awake.

"Since when do you have an arch enemy?"

Gus could almost hear Shawn's eyes rolling. "Hatter's always been there. Come on, think, Gus! A guy with hair like mine has to have an arch enemy. Some people just can't control their envy."

Gus was confused.

Shawn was hungry.

So, excluding the fact that Shawn apparently had an arch enemy and they were in a building rigged to self destruct, everything was totally normal.

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><p>After that though, Gus paid more attention. And he wasn't surprised to see the newspaper article the next day about the mysterious disappearance of the crown jewels. And he didn't miss the way Shawn snorted just a bit when the story hit the news. Or the fact that every where they went, security cameras seemed to magically follow all of their movements.<p>

Eventually, it just became a slightly disturbing fact of life. Hatter was simply Shawn's criminally inclined stalker.

And then one day there was an incident with a mysterious text message, an exploding bridge, a prison break, and the sudden appearance of a few dozen baby wallabies. But that, my friends, is a different story...

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><p>There you go!<p> 


	8. Mexico OneShot

For those of you who recognize this, this is "What Happens in Mexico, Stays in Mexico... Or Not?"

Someone told me I should add this so... Here it is. It's not my best chapter and it's a bit strange... but I hope you'll forgive me and just accept that this makes two chapters in one day :) This is Henry getting a bit of a clue about what happened in Mexico... The first time.

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><p>"Dude!" Psychic detective Shawn Spencer exclaimed as he slid into the passenger side of the Blueberry across from Gus, both ignoring the grumbling Henry in the backseat. "That had to be the best reveal ever! I mean, channeling a cat was cool, but hijacking a Rhino while channeling the spirit of James Bond? Epic!"<p>

Gus grinned and shook his head in mock exasperation. To Henry he spoke, "Do you think he realizes that James Bond isn't real?"

Henry snorted, "I tried to tell him once, he laughed in my face and said that I must be wrong, after all, I said the same thing about Rambo."

Shawn, unaware that no one was actually listening, kept on talking in the front seat. "The whole riding a Rhino thing was like Deja Vu. I could practically see the border patrol all over again..."

Realizing what Shawn was saying, Gus clapped a hand over his friends mouth, the little blue Psych-mobile swerving alarmingly. "Dude, what happens in Mexico stays in Mexico!"

Shawn sent him a confused glance. "It's not like you were even conscious for that part..."

Gus sent him a pointed glare, inclining his head in Henry's direction.

Shawn frowned, not understanding.

Gus sighed and jerked his head to the side several more times.

Shawn's eyes lit up in understanding... "Charades! I thought we made a deal never to play charades while you're driving again?" ...or not.

Gus winced as he threw his head a little too far towards Mr. Spencer for comfort, but Shawn was on a role now.

"Thriller! No... Water in your ears? It wasn't my fault you were drunk enough to think you could swim back to California!"

Gus gave up on the hints. "Seriously, Shawn? You're the one who let me try to swim to California from Mexico!"

Shawn grinned. "I wasn't about to jump into shark infested waters to stop you..."

The car suddenly swerved onto the median as Gus hit the brakes.

"Shark infested waters, Shawn?"

"Dude, that was totally unmanly like. You sound like the girl I went skinny-dipping with in the fountain..."

Henry threw his son a partly amused, partly exasperated look, unwilling to stop the banter if it meant he'd find out what really happened in Mexico. He'd been curious ever since that call from a drunk Gus years ago about penguins, rhinos, and border patrol.

"That wasn't a girl, Shawn! And it was the penguin enclosure at the zoo!"

"Dude, I'm the one with the memory, and how would you know, you were to busy getting chased by a mountain lion!"

"That you let out, Shawn!"

"At least I didn't steal a pony from a cowboy!"

"It was a horse, Shawn, and I stole it from the gangbanger who had you tied up!"

"Puh-lease! Her dad was the drug-lord, not her, and did you ever wonder if I wanted to be tied up!"

"You didn't seem real happy about it when we were playing duct-tape charades!"

"I wasn't happy because I kept asking you for a pineapple smoothie from DQ and you thought I told you to break open the pinata!"

"How was I supposed to know there was a person inside the pinata!"

"I tried to tell you! Haven't you seen those commercials!"

"We were playing charades, Shawn! And how many times have I told you not to believe what you see on tv. Life isn't like that!"

"And whose idea was it to play charades while my mouth was duct taped shut and I was handcuffed to a bed wearing only a sombrero and Spongebob boxers? And my life is so like a TV show! Any actor would be glad to have such incredible hair!"

"I left the duct tape on your mouth because you wouldn't shut up!"

"It's not my fault I though it was funny that you thought that mounties would be working border patrol!"

"They were!"

"In Canada!"

"How does the rhino tie into this?" Henry had to ask.

"After I released- uh... I mean, rescued- the zoo animals..." Suddenly Shawn seemed to realize who he was talking to. "Sorry, Dad." He stammered, "what happens in Mexico stays in Mexico..." He opened the car door and stepped out onto the median.

"What are you doing, Shawn?" Gus called out.

Still blushing furiously, Shawn yelled back. "It's okay, I can walk from here!"

"That's twenty miles, Shawn!"

"Didn't seem to bother you in Mexico!" Shawn disappeared around the corner of the road.

Gus just sighed and shook his head as he started the engine.

Hoping to break the awkward silence that filled the car, Henry spoke. "So... done any swimming lately?"

* * *

><p>Yeah, I know it's a bit crack- y I couldn't help it... :)<p> 


	9. crossover with Numbers

**I don't own Psych or Numbers or anything else, really. I do own two pineapples, however, and may be willing to negotiate a sale :) Anyways, I know this is a bit unexpected, but I couldn't resist. Not quite sure how it turned out, though...  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Everything important had been done, the fat lady really had sung (Shawn winced just remembering the sound), Lassiter had tap danced, Henry had admitted Shawn was right, and Jules had gifted him with the best celebratory kiss ever. Oh, and the serial killer had been caught. Best day ever...<p>

...Or at least until they were leaving the CalSci campus, the nutty professor being dragged away in a black and white.

Fall leaves crunched under foot as Shawn and Gus headed towards the blueberry, and the others began to split off to go to their own vehicles.

"Professor Spencer!"

The voice rang out of the mutterings of the students who had gathered around the crime scene to view the arrest that had taken place a few minutes before.

Shawn winced.

Juliet's head turned, face twisted into a quizzical expression.

Carlton paused with his hand on the car door.

Henry glanced around for the source.

Gus continued to talk to Shawn, something about Jerk chicken and how Shawn was paying, after all, he had promised Gus lunch the next time they were targeted by a serial killer and had to complete an insane race against time through California.

"Professor Spencer!"

Shawn stiffened. He knew that voice. Maybe if he didn't turn around...

"...and you are SO paying for gas Shawn. 'Mr. Pickles' had to die again today and I'm not getting paid for my day off to 'mourn'. So next time maybe you should consider that I already have a full time PAYING job before getting targeted by a serial killer!"

Gus continued to walk towards the blueberry, unaware that Shawn had stopped behind him.

"Shawn!" Charles Eppes clapped his hand over his old friend's shoulder, forcing Shawn to reluctantly turn and face him.

"It's good to see you! I read your abstract on the relationship of eleven dimensional gravity and base fluctuations as shown by Heisenberg's principle to fermions and bosons movement in connection with the applied mathematical concept of logarithmic spirals occurring in three dimensional figures according to the golden ratio! I have to say, when we were consulting together after Princeton, you were the closest friend I had, and then not to see you for years until you show up out of the blue! What have you been up to? Still teaching at CalTech, or gone back to classified work?"

The overexcited Professor Eppes pushed back the sleeves on his ragged jacket, looking more like a teenager than a grown man known as one of the top five minds in the world.

By this point, everyone was lost. Juliet was gaping, her mind racing to try to comprehend the man's words. Carlton's dark eyebrows were drawn together in confusion and irritation. Henry just looked shocked.

"...and don't even pretend you left your wallet behind like last time, Shawn..." Gus had almost reached the blueberry.

None of the others seemed to believe what was going on...Which Shawn didn't mind, he knew he didn't look like he belonged in the top six minds of the world.

"I've been doing some consulting with the Santa Barbara Police Department. Actually that's why I'm here, Charlie."

Charlie nodded, "Well, since you're in town, why don't you come over to my house for dinner? Dad will love to have you and I can show you my work on my Cognitive Emergence Theory! Besides, I have pineapple."

Forgetting his surroundings, Shawn raised his eyebrows, "Wait a second, the math of the brain?"

Charlie grinned. "Yes, it's my life's work."

"It sounds even more groundbreaking than your Eppes convergence concerning asymptotics of  
>Hermitian random matrices!"<p>

At this point, the two men were huddled together in the world of math, their feet pulling them away from the crowd of students who had watched the arrest.

"It's fascinating really. The human mind is so complex and the variables effecting human behavior are almost limitless. Processing the data points will be the work of a decade, at least. Hey, do you remember Larry?"

The men had totally forgotten about Shawn's dumbfounded friends.

Gus, having realized that Shawn wasn't behind him, took a few steps back towards the others.

"Juliet, where's Shawn?"

Jules just pointed mutely, her math still slightly agape.

Gus glanced over at Henry, noting his shock, and then Lassiter, noting his confusion.

"Did I miss something?"

Suddenly from up ahead of their group, a new voice split their awkward silence.

"Professor Spencer," Larry exclaimed, "I've heard so much about you!"

The sound drew Gus' eyes to Shawn, Charlie, and Larry, already deep in conversation.

"What-?"

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><p>S<strong>orry I haven't updated recently, my computer hasn't been letting me log in. :(<strong>


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